Sometime later, they lay close together, their bodies aligned from chest to thigh, warm skin touching, hearts gently beating. “So, what did you think of your first time?” he asked Hank.
Hank was quiet awhile. Finally, he said, “It was scary, for sure, but it was a good kind of scary, if that makes any sense. It was also super intense and incredibly powerful. And you were right—the orgasm was amazing.”
“Yeah?” Avery asked, pleased. “Tell me more. It was different from anything you’ve ever experienced, right?”
“Oh, yeah.” Hank gave a small, delighted laugh. “You weren’t kidding about a marathon. It was the most amazing release of orgasmic energy I’ve ever felt. I felt like my brain had short-circuited. I was flooded with joy—not just my body, but my mind—my soul. It’s like you literally fisted me to high heaven.” He laughed again.
Avery smiled. “I’m so glad, kiddo. I wanted to give you something special for our special day. I know you were nervous about it, but you didn’t let fear stop you. You took a huge leap of submissive faith. I’m so proud of you.”
“I just had to keep looking into your eyes,” Hank said, stroking Avery’s cheek. “And then I knew I was safe.”
Avery reached for Hank and pulled him into an embrace. “You are safe, Hank. Safe in my arms.”
“And you, Avery,” Hank replied, holding Avery close, “are safe in mine.”
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Want more sizzling M/M BDSM? Check out the Serving His Master series, starting with Book 1 – The Contract
Here is a sneak peek at Chapter 1 of The Contract:
Chapter 1 – The Contract
Sweat glistened on the man’s muscular back, which was marked with a stippling of small welts left by the whip. He gripped the chains attached to thick wrist cuffs that lifted his strong arms taut overhead. The man grunted and jerked with each sonic crack of leather. Jace winced, his skin tingling with sympathy and longing.
“Beg me.” The whip curled like a snake in Brandon’s hands. Watching from the crowd clustered around the raised platform, Jace could feel Brandon’s dominance. As if sensing him, Brandon’s gaze flickered over the group, coming to rest on Jace. It should be you up here, he seemed to say with his eyes.
Jace’s heart picked up its tempo. Maybe tonight he would go up there. He’d been an observer often enough. What did he have to lose?
Brandon released Jace’s gaze as he focused once more on the naked, tethered man he’d chosen for the scene. “Please, Sir,” the bound sub moaned, twisting his head back toward his tormentor. “I deserve to be punished. Whip me. Make me bleed.”
The words sent a ripple of something through Jace he couldn’t quite identify—fear, desire, both? Brandon stepped back, his upper lip lifting in a cruel smile, white teeth glinting in the spotlight illuminating the platform. He snapped the bullwhip and once again Jace winced as the tip struck the sub’s back, this time leaving a shiny trail of blood in its wake. Jace drew in a sharp, involuntary breath, his eyes riveted to the scene.
“The ultimate submission,” a voice murmured close to his ear, the accent Spanish. “Complete surrender of the body to another to do with as he will.”
Jace turned toward the voice to see a man with dark wavy hair brushed back and silvering at the temples, his dark eyes boring into Jace's. “The scene moves you, even as it frightens you.”
“Yes,” Jace admitted, surprised at the man’s observation.
The man nodded, as if confirming something for himself. They both turned back to watch the action unfolding in front of them. Brandon whipped the chosen sub until his back was covered with welts, many of them trickling lines of bright red blood. The man cried out with each cut of the whip, but his cock stood at attention, bobbing in time to the strokes.
Finally Brandon lowered the whip and nodded toward a tall blond man who stood waiting just behind the platform. The man jumped onto the stage and together he and Brandon released the bleeding sub from his chains. The man took the sub’s face in his hands. They smiled at one another and shared a quick kiss on the lips. “You’ll have your lover back in a moment,” Brandon said as he gestured for the blond guy to step aside, which he did.
Turning his attention back to the sub, Brandon said, “Thank me properly.”
The man sank to his knees and lowered his head to kiss the tops of Brandon’s shiny black boots. Without a glance at the waiting partner, Brandon ordered, “Stand up and keep your eyes on my face while you jerk off. You have thirty seconds.”
With a glance at his lover, who smiled and nodded, the sub rose to his feet, his cock still fully erect. He fisted his shaft in his large hand, the other hand cradling his balls, seemingly oblivious of the gawking crowd. Brandon glanced down at his watch. “Go.”
The sub’s mouth hung open, his eyes fixed on Brandon’s face as he tugged frenziedly on his shaft. Stoked by the whipping, he almost immediately began to spurt. Long white ribbons of come erupted from the purple head that appeared and disappeared from the circle of his thumb and index finger.
Brandon’s smile was cruel. “Good boy,” he said. “Now get on your knees and lick it up.” The sub promptly dropped to all fours and lowered his head to the floor of the platform, lapping at his jism like a cat licking cream. He lifted his head and turned toward his lover, who held up a thumb of approval. He then turned toward the gathered onlookers, a broad, triumphant smile breaking over his rather plain face. The crowd broke into raucous applause and hoots of approval.
The blond lover helped the sub from the platform and led him toward the recovery room for aftercare while two staff members jumped up to clean and tidy the space for the next public scene. The man beside Jace spoke again. “I’ve seen you here several times before. I have watched you in a few scenes in the playroom over the months. You’re a natural. Born to submit, born for erotic suffering.”
Jace turned to stare at the Latino, still very handsome despite his age, which Jace estimated at about forty-five. Was he trying to pick Jace up? But the man’s expression wasn’t that of someone on the make. Instead he merely looked interested, and his eyes were kind.
“You’re usually with a redhead, am I right?” The man glanced around, as if Patrick were going to miraculously appear. His words were like a small knife twisting in Jace’s heart, the wound of Patrick’s betrayal still so fresh.
He gave a curt nod. “The redhead and I are history.” He tried to smile and nearly made it.
The older man nodded, a wise, sad look in his dark eyes. “This causes you pain.” It was a statement, not a question, and Jace didn’t bother to deny it. “I’m glad you came out tonight,” the man continued. “A good scene can be an extremely cathartic experience. I saw Brandon watching you. I have a strong feeling he’s going to ask you to come up next. I hope you will accept.”
“What? What makes you think he’d pick me?”
“Brandon and I are old friends. The way he was watching you earlier—I think he’s chosen you for the next scene.”
Jace blew out a breath, trying on the idea in his mind. “I don’t know. I’ve never gone up there before. I’ve never scened with Brandon.” Yet he couldn’t deny that every nerve ending in his body pinged with anticipation at the thought of a public scene with the owner of the club. Now that the idea had been planted in his mind, Jace wanted to immerse himself in a scene so intense it would wipe away all vestiges of the worst week of his life.
He wanted to escape.
He wanted to fly.
“Brandon’s a pro. He will respect your limits,” the man said. “He has an uncanny way of giving a sub just exactly what he needs.” Something in the way the man spoke made Jace think he knew this from personal experience. He glanced sharply at the guy, but his expression gave nothing away. “Of course, the decision is yours. My name is Carlo, by the way.”
“Jace,” Jace replied automatically.
“I see the courage in your face, Jace,” the man said softly in his richly accented English. “I see the passion.” The words, his tone of voice and the intense look in his dark eyes all combined to send a shiver of longing through Jace so fierce it took his breath away. Yes, he wanted to go up there. But did he have the courage this man seemed to see in him?
Brandon’s booming voice drew their attention back to the platform. “Who’s ready for another scene?” The men whooped with enthusiasm. “I need a seasoned player,” Brandon said, his icy blue eyes scanning the crowd. “Someone who is strong and brave and not afraid to suffer. Someone who is ready to fly.”
Several hands shot up, and cries of, “Me! Pick me!” were heard. Jace held his breath as he realized Brandon’s gaze had fallen squarely on him, just as Carlo had predicted. Brandon raised his hand and pointed a finger. “You. The beautiful boy with the red T-shirt. I choose you. Come up here.”
Hands were suddenly propelling Jace forward as the crowd magically parted. Before he realized what was happening, he’d been half-hoisted, half-pushed up onto the platform. He looked out into the crowd, his heart smashing like a mallet in his chest. He saw Carlo, who smiled and nodded encouragingly, his dark eyes caressing Jace like an embrace. “Courage,” Carlo mouthed. “You can do it.”
Jace felt a veneer of calm settle over his nerves. Pulling back his shoulders, he turned to face Brandon.
“What’s your name?” Brandon asked.
“Jace,” he replied, pleased his voice didn’t shake.
“And your safeword?”
“Hammer.”
“Hammer,” Brandon repeated. “Hard limits?”
Thinking of the prior scene, Jace said, “No blood play. Or bullwhips. I don’t like bullwhips or canes.”
Brandon nodded, his icy blue eyes glinting. “No problem. Anything else, Jace? Speak now or forever hold your”—he gripped his crotch, flashing a sudden grin to the crowd gathered below them—“piece.”
Jace felt himself flushing as the men below him laughed. Lifting his chin, he added, “I want a pure BDSM scene. No jerking off for the crowd.” Boos added to the laughter. Jace’s body felt hot, his head light. He kept his eyes on Brandon.
“Ignore them,” Brandon instructed, serious now, his voice at once soothing and commanding. “You and I are the only ones who matter.” Brandon tilted his head appraisingly as he regarded Jace. “I think we’ll go with a flogging. I don’t stop until you fly or until you use your safeword. Sound good?”
Jace swallowed hard but nodded. He could handle this. More to the point, he needed it.
“Strip.” There was no question in Brandon’s tone. It was an order, and instinctively, Jace reached for the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. There were several appreciative whistles from the crowd, though otherwise they had quieted.
Brandon crossed his arms, waiting, though his expression said he wouldn’t wait too long. While nervous in front of all these leering guys, Jace wasn’t particularly modest, and he knew he had a good body. He pulled off his boots and socks and unzipped and removed his jeans, placing everything in a pile toward the back of the stage.
Taking a breath, he pulled down his briefs and kicked them aside. Predictably, the catcalls and hooting started up once more. Jace did his best to ignore them, keeping his focus on the Dom. Brandon swept his naked body with an appreciative gaze and then met his eyes. “You want to be cuffed or can you stay in position on your own?”
Jace lifted his arms and laced his fingers behind his head. He moved his bare feet on the smooth, polished wood until they were planted shoulder-width apart. “I can stay in position.”
Brandon nodded. One of the staff appeared by the stage, a large, black flogger in his hand. He held it up to Brandon, who reached for it. He ran his fingers sensually through the dozens of long leather tresses, his eyes fixed on Jace. He brought the flogger close to Jace’s face. “Kiss it,” he commanded, offering the long, suede-wrapped handle.
Jace touched his lips to the flogger, unable to stop the small sigh of desire that escaped as Brandon pulled the handle away. “Turn around,” Brandon said. “I’ll start slowly in order to assess your tolerance.”
Jace turned, his mind now firmly on the gorgeous flogger in Brandon’s capable hands. The first kiss of leather landed lightly, whispering over his flesh like a promise. Jace drew in a deep, slow breath and let it out again, just as slowly. He loved the way erotic pain lifted him out of himself as it slowed and stilled his otherwise constantly whirring mind. As Brandon continued to flog him, the crowd beneath them fell away.
Jace loved the flogger above all instruments of erotic pain. He loved everything about it, from the rich scent of fine leather, to its sharp but sensual bite, to the way it covered so much skin at once, blanketing him in sensation as it whipped him clean.
“You can take more, I think.” Brandon’s voice was barely audible now over the sound of Jace’s heartbeat pulsing in his ears. He became aware of the slapping sound of the tresses as they smacked his ass, back and shoulders in a steady rhythm. He gasped as the soft leather tresses suddenly snaked out in a flurry of stinging darts that lit his skin on fire. He clamped his fingers tighter against the back of his neck, jarred out of his reverie.
Though intellectually he understood his need for erotic pain, as usually happened at this point in a whipping, Jace wondered what the hell he’d been thinking. What had made him believe being beaten with a heavy, stinging flogger was a good thing? What the fuck was wrong with him that he sought out this experience again and again and again, somehow imagining this time it would be different? It hurt like a motherfucker! He was going to make a fool of himself in front of all these seasoned players. He would fall out of position. He would turn around and grab the damn flogger that was flaying him alive and hurl it across the room.
Jace shifted slightly in an effort to keep his balance. The strokes began to increase in intensity, the leather thudding against him with the force of fists. Jace could hear Brandon grunting behind him as he brought his full strength to bear with each thrashing blow.
Fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, it hurts!
Jace felt dizzy, unable to fill his lungs, to catch his breath. He was a hair’s breadth away from calling out his safeword—from giving up before the magic happened. Why was this so hard tonight? He’d had much more intense whippings. What was the deal?
The deal is you’re on display in front of a bunch of strangers, scening with a guy who doesn’t know you from Adam. You’re on your own, Jace.
That was it.
He was on his own.
Patrick wasn’t there to get him through. Jace realized he’d been waiting on some level for Patrick’s encouragement when the pain threatened to overwhelm the pleasure. Patrick had always talked him through the toughest parts. Patrick’s gone. He’s not coming back. The thought twisted like a barb into his mind.
The flogger hit him with such force he nearly staggered forward. Focus, Jace admonished himself. Desperately he fought the shadow of panic hovering on the edges of his psyche, ready to spring forward like a wolf if he let it. Jace opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d been squeezing shut and turned his head toward the room. He found Carlo easily in the crowd, as if he were the only real person standing amidst a group of mannequins.
He was watching Jace with those deep, dark eyes, and Jace heard Carlo’s voice in his head as clearly as if he’d been speaking aloud. Flow with the pain. Let it take you where you need to go. Breathe.
As if Carlo had spoken aloud, Jace nodded his thanks. He inhaled deeply, letting his lungs fill. He imagined his body easing and opening, the bones and muscles melting into the heat of his raw need. In…and out… In…and out… You can do it. Breathe through the pain.
The lashing, though just as intense as a moment before, became easier to bear. Instead of twisting away, Jace was now able to lean into the pain, embracing it like a long lost lover. He focused for as long as he could on Carlo until his hea
d grew heavy, his eyelids fluttering closed.
The flogger continued to crash against his back, ass and shoulders but Jace no longer felt the pain. Or more accurately, he no longer experienced it as pain. He let his head fall back, his lips parting softly as wave after wave of deep, abiding peace sluiced through him until he was washed clean, as empty and smooth as sea glass, floating through peaceful, buoyant waters of pure serenity.
Jace became aware that the flogging had stopped. He was mildly startled by the burst of applause that penetrated the peace surrounding his spirit. Lifting his head, he smiled in the general direction of the sound, though his eyes weren’t quite ready to focus.
“Good job,” Brandon said, and the words of praise warmed Jace. A soft robe was draped around his shoulders and he realized with some surprise that Carlo was now on the stage with them.
“You were right, Carlo,” Brandon said, turning to the man with a grin. “An excellent candidate.”
Jace looked with some confusion toward Carlo. Carlo just nodded and smiled. “Let’s go to the recovery room for some aftercare, Jace,” he said quietly. “We’ll talk more there.”
Still dazed, Jace allowed himself to be helped down from the stage. Carlo put his arm lightly around Jace as they walked through the playroom to the recovery room. Jace moved slowly, still caught in the dreamy weave of his altered state.
Once in the small room, which was unoccupied save for the two of them, Jace sank into a deep, comfortable sofa. Carlo went to the refrigerator and returned to Jace a moment later holding out a glass of cold orange juice, which Jace accepted gratefully.
Though he appreciated Carlo’s attention and concern, in a way he wished he was alone. The flogging had accomplished its goal of wiping his mind and heart clean, at least while it was in process, but now he felt curiously fragile. He was tired—weary to his bones. Everything he was facing out there beyond the comforting walls of this club would still be waiting when he walked out the door. No job, no money, no lover, no prospects, no future. He had nothing, and no one, to turn to. He was well and truly alone.
Turning the Tables Page 21